


But What Can Follow the Sun

by hardlyfatal



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 12:34:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18469078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardlyfatal/pseuds/hardlyfatal
Summary: Set during World War 2. Dany's world is turned upside down, in more than one way.Might have more chapters eventually? But a one-shot for now.





	But What Can Follow the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Been a while since I wrote for Jonerys, which makes me sad. I might do more of this if my interest in the ASoIaF/GoT world doesn't wane with the show's end. But in case I never do get back to this, I didn't want it to just die on my hard drive and never be read. Hope it doesn't suck too badly, sorry if it does. Thanks to FrostbitePanda for her thoughtful and helpful feedback <3

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~*~

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“Mama!” Rhaego called, running in from the front yard, a toy horse still clutched in his hand. “Someone’s here!”

Dany turned from where she stood at the kitchen counter, trying her best to make biscuits. All the recipes said not to knead the dough too much, that it would become tough and chewy if she did, but how else could she be sure there wouldn’t be clumps of unmixed flour or baking powder? She blew out a frustrated breath, stirring the wisp of hair that had come loose from the hairpins trying without success to tame her curls.

“Who is it?” she called back to her son, turning from the dough with relief to wash her hands.

“Soldiers!” was his reply. “Two of them! In fancy uniforms!”

Dany froze, her hands going still under the scalding flow of water. _Oh_ , she thought numbly. _Drogo is dead._

She’d had no illusions about Drogo’s fate; career soldiers either died young or old, nothing in-between, and he was as reckless as he was cocky. She snagged a dishtowel and dried her hands, then patted down her hair and the skirt of her dress. It wouldn’t do to look slovenly when she received the news of her husband’s death.

Rhaego dragged the door wide just as Dany arrived behind him. There, the fist of the elder upraised to knock, stood two uniformed men, their posture rigidly upright and their faces appropriately somber. The older man wore captain’s bars on his epaulets, and the younger was a lieutenant, if his insignia were any clue. The lieutenant blinked several times at the sight of her. Dany wondered if she had flour smeared on her face, or she had missed the strand of hair and was disheveled.

“Mrs. Khal?” inquired the older man as he lowered his hand. At her weak ‘yes’, he continued, “I’m Captain Davos Seaworth. This is Lieutenant Snow.”

“Hi!” said Rhaego, excited. “Did you just come back from battle? Did you kill a lot of Germans?”

The younger officer looked down at the boy with compassion. He wasn’t too tall, but handsome, around Dany’s own age she would guess. He had soulful dark eyes and black hair that was determined to curl no matter how ruthlessly short it was cut. He reached out a hand and placed it on Rhaego’s own dark head, ruffling the unruly strands.

“We’ve got to talk to your mother,” he said in a pleasing baritone. “How about you go play for a while?”

Rhaego pouted, tilted his head back to shoot Dany a look in pleading to stay, but she gave him ‘the eye’ and his shoulders slumped. “Yes, ma’am,” he muttered and went back out into the front yard.

Dany watched him go with a sense of unreality. She knew Drogo was dead, but until one of the men said it, she could pretend her life— her son’s life— hadn’t just been destroyed, forever changed.

“Please come in,” she said through stiff lips, stepping back. They swept their hats from their heads as they passed through the threshold, their gazes neutral as they surveyed the interior of the bungalow. It was small, she knew, but had never been ashamed of that; she’d grown up obscenely rich, in a mansion so large a dozen bungalows could have fit inside, but this was a place she’d chosen herself, had decorated herself, cared for with her own two hands.

She gestured them from the tiny foyer to the sitting room adjoining. “May I get you something to drink?”

“We’d appreciate that, ma’am,” said the captain, his tone affable, just like his face, as they filed past. There was something very kind and genial about him, something utterly decent. She bet he was an excellent father. Dany wondered what it might be like if Aerys had been kind and genial and decent. How else might she have turned out? Viserys? For certain, her mother wouldn’t be the shambling wreck of a woman she’d ended up—

“Ma’am?” It was the lieutenant who spoke, this time, and Dany realized she’d slipped away into her wonderland yet again, lost in her thoughts. He was watching her with the same sense of compassion he’d aimed at Rhaego, and she felt a flash of dislike for him. _Don_ _’t you dare pity me_. _Don_ _’t you dare._

“I’m sorry,” she said, pleased at how neutral her voice managed to sound. “Please have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

She didn’t envy the men their grim task; beyond the ugly news they were to present her, they bore the full brunt of summer in their wool uniforms. In the kitchen, she found the pitcher of cold sweet tea in the icebox, filled two tall glasses with it until condensation formed on their sides.

When she returned to the sitting room, she saw the captain had placed himself precisely in the center of the battered old leather chesterfield— a relic of her girlhood at Dragonstone, one of many incongruously jammed into the bungalow— and the lieutenant had ensconced himself in Drogo’s chair.

Her gaze locked on him. He looked nothing like her husband, despite the shared darkness, was half-a-foot shorter, but the reality of the situation crashed over Dany in a wave at the sight of him, pale face framed by the lavish black-and-red damask upholstery behind him. Her vision fuzzed at the edges and all strength deserted her hands. The glasses began to slip through her fingers.

He was there in an instant, the lieutenant, snatching the glasses from her to thrust them at his superior officer before looping an arm around her waist. “Ma’am, come sit,” he urged in a low voice. He guided her to the chesterfield the captain had just vacated, free arm poised to snatch her up if her legs failed her, too, but she made it there without suffering that indignity as well.

A faint clink caught Dany’s attention; Captain Seaworth had very gently placed the glasses down on the bright-polished tea table before her. _If you don_ _’t put coasters under them, Mother will scold,_ she thought hazily. The bane of Rhaella’s life— after her husband— was water rings on the furniture.

The lieutenant sat next to her, scooted sideways to face her. To her surprise, he took her hands between his own. They were very warm, or perhaps hers were just very cold, but it felt good, so she didn’t snatch them back like she ordinarily would have done. She dragged her eyes up from her lap to meet his. Dark, his eyes were, like Drogo, but whereas his were— had been-- black, with a devilish red glint when his blood was up, Lieutenant Snow’s were a lambent soft brown, velvet, like the autumn dress she’d worn to Rhaego’s baptism. She could almost feel its soft nap under her fingertips.

“You know why we’re here, Mrs. Khal, I think,” he said carefully.

“Yes,” she whispered. “When?”

“Three weeks ago, we think,” said the captain, his voice accented by a youth in Flea Bottom, if Dany weren’t mistaken. “We’d have come sooner, but we wanted to be sure. It wouldn’t do to give you wrong information.”

 _Three weeks._ She’d been a widow for three weeks. Rhaego had been fatherless for three weeks. It seemed she should have known, somehow. She’d been going around for almost a month as if everything were fine, she’d let Rhaego spend that time believing he still had a father, and—

Pressure on her hands dragged her from that stream of thought, and her gaze focused to take in the intense young lieutenant.

“I’m very sorry, ma’am,” he told her quietly, and she actually believed him. She searched his eyes and could see no hint of pretense or mummery.

“How?” she managed. There was something grounding about his eyes, Dany decided, something solid and weighty that kept her from floating away into flights of anguish as her heart longed to. She kept her own latched on them, not looking away.

Lieutenant Snow’s face shifted to something wary, uncomfortable. “Mrs. Khal, it’s better if you don’t know the details,” he said. “Please believe me.”

And looking at his earnest, somber face, she did. She believed him. If he thought it best she not know how Drogo had met his end, it was. She forced herself to nod and was rewarded with his smile, quick and relieved. He gave her hands another press with his own.

“You have a fine boy,” commented the captain. Dany looked away from the lieutenant to his superior officer, who had moved to stand by the window, looking out at where Rhaego was playing. “Hasn’t moved from the yard even once.”

“Yes,” said Dany. Her voice was stronger, this time. Rhaego always made her stronger. “I have been very lucky with him.”

Captain Seaworth smiled kindly at her. “Just luck, is it? Or, perhaps, some excellent parenting?”

“Thank you.” She felt her cheeks warm with a blush, and was amazed; that just didn’t happen to her. Not for years and years. She couldn’t have stopped her responding smile if she had tried; it spread across her face until she was beaming. “I appreciate you saying so.”

Then, like ink in water, the darkness of her new situation swirled in to obscure the light. Her smile dropped away, face going lax with shocking quickness. How could she smile? Drogo was dead. He was dead, and she had no idea what to do next.

“Do you have someone you can call?” asked the lieutenant, another squeeze of her hands snagging her attention once more. “Someone who can come be with you? Family, a friend?”

Dany cast her mind over her options. Viserys hadn’t a lick of sympathy in his body; he’d make cynical comments about how _inconvenient_ Drogo’s death was. Their mother would get a case of the nerves and end up needing to be comforted, herself.

“No,” she said. “I don’t.”

If she hadn’t stared at Lieutenant Snow so intently before, when he’d kept her from spiraling off into a sea of misery, she might not have noticed, but she knew his face, by that point. The flash of pity on his face was gone almost before she could register it had been there. The dislike she’d felt for him, before, returned with a vengeance. Dany hadn’t been a Targaryen for over six years, at that point, but the pride that had been drilled into her from her earliest memories reasserted itself with a vengeance.

She withdrew her hands from his and felt the muscles in her face shift, a cool mask descending. Affront lent strength to her legs; she stood and stepped toward the foyer, a clear indication their welcome was overstayed. The lieutenant shot to his own feet, dismay clear in his wide eyes, but he said nothing.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” she said with exquisite politeness. “I apologize for my reaction earlier. You’ve been very kind.”

Captain Seaworth sent a wistful glance at his glass of tea, only half-drunk. His weathered face was gentle and sad as he held out his hand to shake. “A pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” he said in his comfortable accent. He stepped outside and replaced his hat on his balding head, squinting into the afternoon sun slanting golden over the horizon.

Lieutenant Snow stepped forward, hat tucked under his arm. She was coming to see that his intensity was characteristic, and felt a bit scrutinized to be its focus. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For your loss, and however I offended you, just now—”

“You—” she interrupted, then cut herself off and sighed, a little ashamed as her pique faded as quickly as it had arisen. She put out her hand for him to shake in farewell. “You did nothing wrong. I’m upset that Drogo is dead. I should not take it out on others. You’ve been immensely kind.”

He took her hand, and his velvet-brown eyes searched her face. He seemed to find what he was seeking; an expression of relief flitted across his features, and he bestowed upon her another of his there-and-gone smiles. “I wish you all the best, ma’am,” he told her, with every evidence of sincerity.

“Thank you. I’m sure we’ll be fine, eventually.”

“I’m sure you will be.”

It was the obvious moment for him to depart, and indeed his captain was ready to go, having ambled over to Rhaego to chat while waiting for his junior to leave the bungalow. But Lieutenant Snow just stood there, hand in hers, looking for all the world like he were memorizing her face.

 _He is a strange man._ Dany wondered if he might actually be attracted to her, but how possible was that? Housework and child-rearing and little money had long since separated her from the perfect skin and smooth hair and easy smiles of her youth. She wore no makeup, had nothing to darken her white-blond eyelashes or differentiate the flesh of her lips from the rest of her pale face. Her dress had been chosen for comfort and coolness and, most importantly, its lack of expense. Its unflattering color, shapeless hang off her slim frame, and the obviously cheap fabric could make the curviest bombshell look unappealing.

No, she decided, he was just that rarest of creatures: a genuinely good person, and well-chosen for this morbid task. She wondered how many others had been recipients of Lieutenant Snow’s particular brand of empathy and, in a peculiar way, it made her feel a little better. As if she’d entered some small, select group.

“Goodbye, Lieutenant,” she said gently, and he gave a slow blink, as if waking from a dream. “If you are sent overseas, I hope you stay safe.”

“I will do my best,” he replied. She withdrew her hand from his at last, surprised at his slight resistance before finally releasing it. She tried to see his eyes, to see what he might be thinking, but he turned away to step out the door, hat brim carefully adjusted against the sunlight. He let the screen door bang shut behind him, and it drew Rhaego’s attention.

“Mama, Captain Seawirf says his company is shipping out in a few days!” he exclaimed. “They’re going to Ijo— Jiwo—”

“Iwo Jima, ma’am,” corrected the captain, his tone affable.

 _Where the worst of the fighting was likely to be_ _._ Her dismay must have shown on Dany’s face, because he aimed a faint grin her way.

“We’re always careful, Mrs. Khal. Always.”

She forced a smile. They climbed into their car and drove off, the lieutenant chauffeuring Captain Seaworth. Once they’d rounded the turn at the end of the block, Dany drew in a deep breath and steeled herself for what she had to do.

“Rhaego,” she said, “come indoors, love. I have to tell you something.”


End file.
